


not that way anymore

by orphan_account



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:22:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1606688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Michael was drunk. Michael was incredibly drunk. Drunk and upset and angry and seething—and in all honesty, he had forgotten what he was upset about a good twenty minutes ago, but he figured it would come back to him the next day along with the inevitable splitting headache."</p>
            </blockquote>





	not that way anymore

**Author's Note:**

> i felt sooooo stupid writing this and then it got really far away from me oops. my ships are all--well. well. oh well.  
> title from titus andronicus' arms against atrophy because i'm physically incapable of choosing an original song title.

Michael was drunk. Michael was incredibly drunk. Drunk and upset and angry and _seething_ —and in all honesty, he had forgotten what he was upset about a good twenty minutes ago, but he figured it would come back to him the next day along with the inevitable splitting headache.

For now, though, he was drunk out of his mind, upset about something he couldn’t quite remember, and completely alone in the model home. He put his scotch on the coffee table and slumped further into the couch cushions, rubbing his eyes as he glanced at the clock. Not even seven o’clock.

Well, he wasn’t alone for long. “Michael!” The front door opened, signifying Gob’s arrival. Michael briefly considered making a run for it, but decided to be a good brother and see what Gob wanted. Well, that, and the fact that when he tried to stand up, the world took a sudden sharp turn to the right and he stumbled back onto the couch.

“Michael,” Gob said, rounding the corner. “Okay, listen, I know you hate—” He stopped when he saw Michael curled up on the couch. “Are you drunk?”  
“Shhhh.” Michael pressed a finger to his lips, blinking blearily up at his brother. “Shhhhhhhh.”

“What’s the matter, little Mikey? Can’t hold your liquor?” But Gob smirked and pressed a finger to his own lips. He pulled off his shoes, sat down on the couch next to Michael, and propped his feet up on the coffee table. Michael let his eyes close, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. The only sounds in the room were his and Gob’s breathing and the steady tick of the clock in the next room. Michael sighed.

“What d’you want, G—”

“Shhh,” Gob interrupted. Michael opened his eyes and looked up to see Gob press a finger to his lips.

“Shhh,” Michael agreed, smiling slightly.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, Michael eventually letting his eyes fall shut again. He shifted in order to get more comfortable on the couch—which meant leaning his head against his brother’s thigh. If Michael’s eyes had been open, he would have seen the look of trepidation that crossed Gob’s face, the slight deer-in-the-headlights look in his eyes. But they weren’t, and he didn’t, and all Michael felt was Gob’s hand rest gently on his head and—after a moment’s hesitation—start gently stroking his hair.

Michael was drunk, and the lines of his thoughts were fuzzy and muddled, but he was still aware that what they were doing was Weird, and Awkward, and probably a Very Bad Idea, well on its way to being very Wrong indeed. Those thoughts were pushed away by thoughts of sleep, of work, of how much scotch was left, and whether he could get up and fix himself another and still come back to this same position, because it was really very nice, warm and comfortable with his brother like they hadn’t been in—had they ever been like this?—and anyway he was drunk, but his head wasn’t nearly fuzzy enough for anything more than this.

More? What More? Who said anything about More? Michael frowned slightly, his train of thought not just getting away from him, but coming dangerously close to veering off the rails of good intentions entirely. He tried to focus—on the bitter taste on the back of his tongue, the way his position was starting to cramp his arm, the way his brain felt too heavy for his skull, the way Gob’s slender fingers steadily stroked his hair—except he felt like that was absolutely the wrong thing to focus on. But still—

“I need a drink,” Michael announced only slurring a tiny bit, and he sat up and extricated himself from Gob. He was reaching for his still sort-of full glass of scotch on the table when Gob pushed it away from him with his foot.

“Maybe you’ve had enough to drink, Michael,” Gob said, watching him with a curious expression.

Michael huffed. “Look, Gob, if you’re just gonna—” He tried to reach over Gob, but was blocked, and god _damn_ how were his arms that long? He tried again, only to be blocked once more. Michael huffed again. He could stand up and walk around Gob to get it, except—no, that wasn’t gonna happen anytime soon.

Tired, and drunk, and a little confused about everything, Michael lay on his back on the couch, his head even more firmly in Gob’s lap. Gob, who hadn’t moved from his spot, put his arm gently across Michael’s chest.

“So, Mikey, what’s got you this drunk this early?” Gob asked, clearing his throat. Uncomfortable, but not uncomfortable.

Michael’s eyes shut again. He was so _tired_. “Oh, you know. You know how it is,” he said, waving his hand around vaguely. Michael actually didn’t know how it was, having successfully drank away his problems, and inadvertently drank himself into a whole new predicament. His cheeks flushed, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol. He dropped his hand, and it landed next to Gob’s; he took it, barely thinking, lacing their fingers together, savoring the feeling of Gob’s long skinny fingers wrapped with his, the feeling of their pulses pressed close together. His mind felt suddenly clear, clear for the first time that night, and he opened his eyes to see Gob looking down at him, brow furrowed.

Michael was drunk, and not thinking nearly as clearly as he thought he was, but he reached up with his free hand and his fingers found Gob’s chest, his collar, his throat, before tangling into the hair at the back of his head and pulling him down.

Gob didn’t pull away, and their lips brushed, shy, chaste, but Michael smelled alcohol and realized he hadn’t been the only one drinking that night. Gob pulled back slightly, nose pink, frowning, still not letting go of Michael’s hand.

“Michael—”

“Shhhhhh. It’s okay. Shhhhhh.” Michael pulled Gob back down, kissing him again, head spinning. Gob kissed back, using his free hand to tug at Michael’s hair. Michael repaid him with a series of quick bites to Gob’s lower lips. He tasted blood. Gob kissed him harder. Michael’s head throbbed and fuzzed more strongly than ever, and he broke the kiss, leaving his forehead pressed to Gob’s.

“What’s wrong?” Gob asked, breathlessly, or at least more breathlessly than normal.

“Nothing—nothing. M’fine. I’m great.” I’m _fucked_ , Michael added to himself as he flipped himself over and climbed onto his knees, straddling Gob’s slender hips. Fucked, fucked, completely fucked, in more ways than one. He kissed Gob again, almost angrily, fighting the feelings that welled up inside of him. This is Wrong, he reminded himself as Gob pulled Michael’s shirt open and wrapped his long fingers about his waist. Revolting, as he sucked a bruise onto the pulse point on Gob’s neck. The Worst Idea I’ve Ever Had, as Gob pushed him onto his back, straddling Michael’s waist and digging his nails into Michael’s skin. Michael strained, hard against his pants, hips held down by Gob’s weight. Gob noticed Michael’s dilemma and pinned both of his brother’s wrists above his head, started work on a bite mark on Michael’s collarbone, and ground his hips slo-o-o-o-o-owly against Michael’s.

Michael cried out, burying his face into Gob’s neck and whimpering softly. He felt undone, he felt unclean, the room spun around him and he was suddenly very glad that Gob had stopped him from drinking any more, because he wouldn’t have been able to—

“Gob,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. “Gob, we need to—I— _Gob._ ” He managed to untangle himself from Gob’s grip and pull himself up, just a bit. Gob just looked at him, flushed face suddenly bone white.

“Did we—did I—I fucked up, didn’t I—” Gob mumbled, pulling away from him. Michael caught one of his wrists and laced their fingers together.

“No, you—you didn’t—it was my fault, Gob.” Michael suppressed the urge to laugh, at Gob, at himself, at this whole fucking situation. Instead, he nuzzled his face against Gob’s neck again. His heart was still racing and his breathing was still uneven and he was still impossibly hard, although that part was rapidly fixing itself. “I shouldn’t have,” he mumbled, then picked his head up and mumbled into Gob’s ear. “M’drunk. I took advantage of you, maybe, maybe—ha ha, maybe the other way around. But—hey, Gob, hey, listen, listen, shhhhhh.”

Gob had started to pull away uncomfortably, trying his damnedest to avoid direct eye contact. Michael let him go, but kept a hold on his hand. “That’s—s’not what I mean, I mean—let’s take this slow. Slower than fucking in the middle of my living room in the middle of the evening, I mean, ha ha.” Gob smirked a little, eyes still downcast, and leaned back against Michael. Michael rested his forehead back in the crook of Gob’s neck. His head was heavy and warm and—strange.

“So, y-you don’t hate me?” Gob mumbled.

“No—no, of course I don’t hate you, Gob.” Michael rubbed a circle on the back of Gob’s hand with his thumb. “I just—this is new. It’s weird. Good-weird, I think—I hope—but weird.” He glanced up at Gob, could see every freckle standing out on his face. “Just gimme some time, okay? Lemme get used to this first."

Gob nodded, hesitantly. “Okay. Okay.” He wrapped his arms around Michael, and Michael was again struck by how goddamn _long_ he was.

“Hey. Gob.” Michael said softly. “Let’s go upstairs okay? Spend the night with me. I can’t—spend the night with me.”

And Michael half-thought Gob was going to carry him through the house, the way he scooped him up in his arms, set him on his feet, and kissed him, grinning the entire time.


End file.
